Desolation
by CaitlinMF
Summary: Life Isn't Always Fair Game (Clark POV)


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Title: Desolation

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Author: Caitlin

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Rating: PG

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Characters: Clark 

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Spoilers: None

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Summary: Life isn't always fair game.

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Author's Note: Special thanks to The Die Hard for putting up with my many re-writes of this small piece of fiction. Couldn't have done it without you!

Also, this is my first first-person fic, set in Clark's POV. Don't say I didn't warn you.

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Desolation

Like most folks, I can still vividly remember my days as a child. But not many may have experienced it like I did. The times I can recall upon the clearest were in my first years of elementary school. While most young boys my age would have dreamed of becoming a firefighter or police officer; a pro athlete or champion race car driver, or maybe being a farmer like their father; I dreamt otherwise. I knew I could easily be great at any of those professions - and then some. But as simple as it would be – and still is today – it was never a logical choice to make. You see, I'm not just your average 17-year-old American guy. To be honest, I wasn't born in any country on Earth for that matter. And because of that generally withheld bit of information, my life here has been a fair bit unbalanced. Most memorably in those first few years of elementary like I mentioned previously. It was a time when 'cooties' were avoided and free days were spent bug collecting, soccer playing, and bike riding. Well, for everyone except myself, that is.

Don't get me wrong, I tried all those things - just never with other kids my age. Those certain activities always took place on my family's farm while in the watchful eye of my sometimes over-protective parents. Because let's face it, a lot of trouble would arise if an 8-year-old was spotted throwing a ball over 200 yards during a game of baseball. After a while I just gave up on it all, realizing that my parents were right and that I had to be careful around my peers. Which then affected my friendships, or lack there of, for constantly worrying if I was showing too much, or giving any significant evidence of my unique heritage, though at that time I only knew I was "different", not alien. So instead I spent my time up in the loft of our barn wondering why the other kids at school didn't have the same strength or speed as I did; what I had done to be like I was. Yeah, kids at school teased me for my silent and detached ways. But I was my father's son, adopted or not, and I couldn't always just stand there and silently take what they dished out to me. And for that, trouble arose.

There was one day in particular during third grade that I still remember as if it happened yesterday. It was autumn and the cool wind gusted lightly; the crisp leaves crunched beneath the feet of yelling children as I silently watched on the school playground. I was patiently waiting for the bell to ring while thinking about Math with Miss. Danfield. We were starting multiplication with double-digits that day and being a whiz at what we had learnt so far, I was anticipating a new skill to achieve. Sitting under a big oak in a distant corner of the playground, I didn't even notice when the small group of boys approached in stealthy manner. 

"Hey, dummy, get away from our tree," a boy I knew as Charlie Wilson called out smugly, his friend standing at his side.

"It's not your tree, Charlie. It belongs to the school and anybody is allowed to play by it," I said matter-of-factly. These boys had bothered me in the past, and the outcome of their demands had always been me following what they had ordered. But I had recently had a talk with my dad about the situation, and he had told me that I needed to stick up for myself sometimes. So that's what I was going to do.

Charlie was obviously surprised at my reply, "Well would you listen to this. The wimp actually knows how to speak!" he laughed, "Don't you tell me what to do, loser."

I admit it, the name-calling was an often occurrence, but he really had no right. I hadn't done anything wrong. "I wasn't telling you what to do, I was just - "

He cut off my protests. "Hey! Did I say you could speak?" he taunted, his bully attitude definitely rearing its ugly head, "I told you to get away from our tree, so do it!" Beside him, his friend Bill Chambers began to cackle. They were both in the 5th grade, so I knew that talking back to them wouldn't really be a wise choice, but I had seen enough of his orderings of little kids just for the fun of seeing them scare. Someone had to do something, and at the moment that someone was me.

"No!" I said, standing up and taking my guard. "This isn't your tree, so I don't have to leave if I don't want to." I knew I was definitely getting myself into something big when the two boys stepped forward and suddenly pounced on me, Bill grabbing my arms.

"I'm sure you already know what happens to kids who don't follow our orders. And if you didn't, now you're about to find out!" Charlie answered, and he threw his fist into my gut. I lurched forward with the sudden blast, but another one came just as quick – this time knocking me backwards and to the ground. I kicked my legs in protest, but not too forcefully. I knew that I could seriously hurt both of them without much effort – an ability that came along with being alien – and that it could cost me in the end. 

"You're a freak, you know that Clark Kent. A miserable freak who doesn't deserve to be in my sight." With a quick nod to his friend, they pinned me to the hard ground. Charlie on my legs and Bill on my arms.

Grunting, I yelled back to the tormentor "I'm warning you, Charlie – get off me or you'll regret it!" At this point, I was beginning to become less worried about using my strength to fend them off. It wasn't that their physical beatings hurt me to any extreme - at least not as much as it would a normal human - but being forcibly held like this was starting to surface fright and anger from myself.

The two boys laughed menacingly as Charlie then threw a fist at my jaw – which surprisingly really hurt. And that was it. With a burst of what I would later refer to as adrenaline, I lashed out at the boys, sending them off me and tumbling to the ground. Quickly standing, I stood waiting for their next move. Bill came forth first, dashing headfirst at me. The blow knocked me back a couple steps, before I grabbed him by his jacket and tossed him along the ground into the nearby tree. His head made contact first, and he fell unconscious to the grass in a heap. I knew once it happened, it may not have been a wise action to take. 

"What the hell was that, Kent? Nobody messes with my friend and gets away with it!" Charlie had practically screamed, coming at me again with his fists flailing. In a move that I still regret today, I wrapped my hand around his throat and held tightly. It was something I thought I would never do, taking a person's life into my own hands at such a young age. It actually scared me that added a bit more pressure, Charlie's neck would've snapped and he would be dead instantly – without much effort from myself. 

But always tall for my age even then, he didn't stand far above me as he wrestled about with his neck still strongly held in my grip, legs kicking at my shins, arms beating on my chest. The action didn't last very long.

"Clark Kent! What in god's name are you doing? Let go of that boy right this instant!" I heard a woman's voice screech. Unexpectedly, our principal, Mrs. Jaimeson had arrived upon the scene. I quickly removed my hand from Charlie's throat, and he flopped to the ground, coughing.

"Mrs. Jaimeson, ma'am. This isn't what it looks like, I swear," Panicked, I attempted to reason with her, although I was fairly inexperienced in the art of dealing with the aftermath of my wrong doings, for it wasn't often I had misbehaved.

"You had better hope so, Mr. Kent. You can explain it all to me on your way to my office, NOW!" She yelled, emitting a wince from myself. Roughly grabbing my arm, she then led me away from the tree as a few other teachers came over to tend to the injured boys.

It's the events that took place in the principal's office that I would rather forget. My parents had been very disappointed that I had broken off from my incognito ways and lashed out so violently at my peers. Charlie and Bill's parents were furious, but luckily didn't do more than yell. And the principal was mystified at how I was able to perform such a task. Which eventually worked in my favour, for she did her best to cover up the fight that the 8-year-old-had defeated two 11-year-olds in. 

It had taken a year or so before the other kids had pretty much forgotten the occurrences of that day, and so it wasn't brought up again. Just another strange and unexplainable event in the mess called my life. 

I've been a lot more careful since then. Taking such risks is not something I'm very good at, even today. Admittedly, it scares me that I can take such extreme action at someone else's life without a sweat or much thought. Yeah, I still wish I could play football like the rest of the guys at my high school. And that I would be able help out Chloe in her meteor studies for the Torch, and get within 5 feet of the beautiful Lana Lang without keeling over in pain from her necklace. But I can't. So day by day, I spend my time up here in my solitary loft pondering over would'ves, could'ves, and should'ves - wondering if I'll be relinquished up here . . . _forever_. 

The End


End file.
